“Because I was having you followed, obviously. Did you think I’d just let you wander around the city unprotected?”
“So your men saw what happened?”
“They saw enough.” His jaw clenched. “They saw you talking your way out of a kidnapping like it was a fucking social event.”
There it was again. That note of something that wasn’t quite anger, wasn’t quite fear. She studied his face, looking for clues, and that’s when she saw it—a flash of something that looked almost like pride.
“Viktor,” she said carefully, “what happened four years ago—”
“Don’t.” The word came out like a whip crack. “Don’t you dare try to make this about the past.”
“But it is about the past, isn’t it? This isn’t just about me leaving the compound today. This is about me leaving you back then.”
His face went completely blank, all emotion wiped away like someone had flipped a switch. “You’re delusional if you think I give a shit about what happened between us four years ago.”
“Am I? Then why does it feel like you’re punishing me for it?”
“I’m not punishing you for anything,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “I’m just not surprised that you managed to trick my guards into letting you escape. After all, you’ve had plenty of practice betraying people who trust you.”
The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the air out of her lungs. She stared at him, seeing the cruel satisfaction in his eyes as he watched his barb hit home.
“Fuck you,” she whispered.
“Already been there, done that,” he said with casual cruelty. “Though I suppose it wasn’t really me you were fucking, was it? Just another mark in your long list of men to manipulate and abandon.”
She slapped him. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot, and for a moment, they stood frozen in place. Her palm stung from the impact, and she could see the red handprint blooming across his cheek.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “You don’t know anything about what I was going through back then, about the choices I had to make—”
“I know enough.” His voice was ice cold, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I know that you’re exactly the kind of woman who would seduce a man, make him fall in love with you, and then disappear without a word when you get bored.”
“That’s not what happened—”
“Isn’t it? Then where’s the explanation? Where’s the apology? Where’s any sign that you gave a damn about what you did to me?”
The pain in his voice was raw and real, and for a moment, she saw past the anger to the man she’d hurt so badly four years ago. But before she could find the words to explain, to tell him about Adrian’s threats and the impossible choice she’d been forced to make, his expression hardened again.
“Save your breath,” he said. “I’m not interested in your excuses.”
She stared at him for a long moment, seeing the wall he’d built around himself, the fortress of anger and hurt that kept him safe from caring about anyone, including her.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But you’re wrong about me. You’ve always been wrong about me.”
She turned and walked away, leaving the pieces of her credit cards scattered across the floor like fragments of her shattered independence. She made it to her room before the tears started, locking the door behind her and sliding down to sit on the floor with her back against the wall.
Her phone buzzed, and she saw her sisters’ names on the group chat they’d maintained since they were teenagers. Even though she felt like her world was falling apart, seeing their names made something loosen in her chest.
“How’s married life treating you, big sister?” Raya had written, followed by a string of heart emojis.
“Are you being treated like the queen you are?” Sofie added. “Because if not, I’ll come up there and kick some Nikolai ass.”
Despite everything, she found herself smiling. Her baby sisters had always been her anchor, the two people in the world who loved her unconditionally and without agenda. Raya was twenty-two and studying art in Paris, while Sofie was nineteen and finishing her degree at Columbia. Both of them had been furious when they learned about the arranged marriage, but they’d supported her decision because they understood what it meant for their family.
“Everything’s perfect,” she typed back, the lie bitter on her tongue. “Viktor is... attentive. You girls don’t need to worry about me.”
“Attentive how?” Raya wrote back immediately. “Like, bringing you flowers attentive, or like, locking you in a tower attentive?”
“Flowers,” she lied. “Lots of flowers. And he took me shopping today.”
